


those who've learned your weaknesses

by groundopenwide



Series: lads on tour [4]
Category: Bastille (Band), Music RPF
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27761827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groundopenwide/pseuds/groundopenwide
Summary: Ed’s not sure where the weed comes from (Ben’s a bit of a magician like that).
Relationships: Charlie Barnes/Ed Wetenhall
Series: lads on tour [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805506
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	those who've learned your weaknesses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dansmlth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansmlth/gifts).



Ed’s not sure where the weed comes from (Ben’s a bit of a magician like that). He’s also not sure when he ended up on the floor of their hostel room, staring up at the ceiling fan rotating around and around and around. When he squints, it almost starts to look a bit like a pizza. 

“Is anyone else starving?” he asks the room at large.

“Could go for some crisps. And guacamole,” says Charlie. He’s on the floor too, close enough that their elbows keep bumping. Ed’s not thinking about it.

“Avocado,” Ben says wistfully from the bunk beds in the corner. “Avogadro. Avogadro’s number...what is that again?”

“Dunno. I’m shit at maths,” says Charlie. 

“It’s chemistry, actually,” says Ed.

Charlie’s head lolls sideways. He narrows his eyes. “Nerd,” he says, but it sounds fond.

Ed smiles. It’s easy to forget about all the bad when they’re like this, with the high making everything loose and slippery like jell-o. When Charlie smiles back at him, it feels like being covered by a warm blanket. Ed shifts a bit on the floor so that their elbows bump again.

They’re in...somewhere. Too many cities. He can’t remember them all at this point. It’s a night off, no show, and they’ve managed to shell out forty pounds for a hostel room all to themselves. There are probably bed bugs all over the mattress Ben’s currently laying on, but at least it’s a mattress and not the back of the touring van.

“Ed,” Charlie whispers.

“What?” Ed whispers back.

“I can hear you,” Ben says from above them.

Ed looks at Charlie and they both burst into laughter. It’s like a sleepover, the two of them huddled under invisible covers while Ben-the-mum scolds them from outside the door. 

Would they have been friends back then? As kids? Ed tries to picture Charlie like that, small and chubby-cheeked and sticky-palmed, but it’s hard. He only knows this Charlie, the one with the Oceansize tattoo and fierce determination in his eyes. The same Charlie he’s known since uni, when Ben-from-his-American-Lit-lecture invited him to a party and introduced him to his flatmate with the emo haircut and sub-par beatboxing skills.

“I’m going to find the vending machine,” Ben announces.

“Oh!” Charlie exclaims. “Will you get me a Mars bar?”

Ed’s stomach rumbles. “Make that two.”

Ben shakes his head at them, but he grabs a few extra pounds from his bag before he heads out, so Ed holds his hand out for a high-five that Charlie returns with a beaming smile. Then he just sort of...grabs hold of Ed’s hand and doesn’t let go.

“Ed,” he says again, a little more serious this time.

Ed’s smile falters. Their joined hands come to rest on Charlie’s chest, and he can feel Charlie’s heart beating underneath, can feel the butterfly flutter of his pulse inside his wrist. He wants nothing more than to roll over and slot himself into the rest of Charlie’s open spaces so he can feel that heartbeat against his own.

“What is it?” he asks instead.

Charlie examines their hands for a moment, his thumb tracing Ed’s knuckles. Ed should tell him to stop. He should pull his hand away and sit up and go somewhere Charlie can’t reach, somewhere Charlie can’t draw him back in like they’re twenty-three and curled up together on the same lumpy mattress to stave off the winter chill after not having enough money to cover the heating bill.

But Charlie’s hand is warm and Ed is quite high, too high to care about the dangers of this meaning too much, so he stays put. 

And then Charlie looks at him, pupils big and black, and asks, “would you still love me if I was a worm?”

Ed blinks. He waits for the punchline, but it doesn’t come. Charlie just keeps looking at him, and Ed doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry or blurt out what he’s really thinking— _ I’ve loved you for this long already, haven’t I? _

“You’re high as a kite,” he says aloud.

Charlie shrugs, his face twisting with annoyance. He’s still holding Ed’s fucking hand. 

“Would you, though?” he presses.

There was a girl back in uni, one who Charlie dedicated all his songs to; he’d wax poetic about her to anyone who’d listen. Ed was around for that. He was also around for the breakup and the way Charlie shut down for months, his sunny smile nowhere to be found. 

The numerous auditions that never led to anything, the endless days in that god forsaken coffee shop, the anniversary of Charlie’s mum’s death which inevitably rolled around once every year—Ed was around for those, too. Even with Charlie now halfway around the world for most of the year, playing onstage and getting smashed afterwards with people who aren’t Ed and Ben—Ed’s still around, waiting. He’s been waiting almost a decade at this point.

“Always,” he tells Charlie now. Honesty drips from his mouth like blood. “Always, mate.”

Charlie squeezes his hand, and if Ed wanted to read into it—which he  _ does— _ he’d probably take it to mean something like  _ me, too. _


End file.
